


The Hand of Charity

by clgfanfic



Category: Soldier of Fortune Inc.
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-12
Updated: 2012-11-12
Packaged: 2017-11-18 11:39:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/560662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A freeloader moves in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hand of Charity

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Black OPs #6 and later in Watch Your Six #4 with Mary Fallon Zane.

Sitting alone in the basement of the Silver Star, Matthew Q. Shepherd, decorated Delta Force major, contemplated murder.

          The first time he saw the thief, it was late at night, and he had just turned from dropping two bags of trash into the large dumpster outside the Silver Star.  The half-full moon and external lights on the surrounding buildings cast enough light for him to catch a glimpse of her, even if it was nothing more than swiftly moving shadow close to the ground.  She was skittish, fearful.  Not that he blamed her.  Life on the streets did that to the heartiest of souls.  He'd briefly considered going after her then, but changed his mind.  She probably wouldn't appreciate his help, and the last thing he wanted to do was spend half the night trying to catch her.  She probably knew the area better than he did, and he'd practically grown up there.  He went back inside, his life immediately falling back into its normal patterns.

So he hadn't really thought much about her at the time.  There was no reason to.  Nothing around the old hotel was ever disturbed, except the dumpster, which he guessed she was raiding for whatever food she could find, and, well, he didn't really care about that.  It was no skin off his nose if she wanted to dig though the garbage, although he had to admit – although only to himself – that it did bother him a little that she'd been reduced to that.

But that was to change all too quickly.

First it was the torn screen on a first floor window where she'd tried to get inside the building.  He'd fixed that the first time without even realizing that she was the culprit.  By the third time, however, he'd begun to suspect she was behind the recurring damage.  He'd briefly considered boarding-up the window, but quickly changed his mind.  He was slowly restoring the old building, and a boarded-up window just wouldn't do, not with all the progress he'd made.  It offended his since of accomplishment.  So he took some of the money he'd gotten from Trout and put decorative iron bars on all of the first floor windows, telling the others that it was just part of the overall security for the building.

The next time he suspected she had caused more damage was when he'd been forced to prop the door to the basement open.  He had a lot of junk to haul down to the dumpster, old wallpaper and moldings from one of the suites he was just starting on.  Benny Ray had been gone, spending the day with his kids.  So, all alone, he'd shoved a wedge under the door and made several trips from the second floor to the container, his arms loaded with the debris.

Coming in from his fifth trip he'd heard it:  a loud crash in the basement.  He'd hurried downstairs, pulling the M-9 from the holster clipped to his jeans.  On the floor in the kitchen was what was left of the large platter that had been sitting on the counter.  The cold-cuts, cheese, and French bread that had filled the huge plate were all gone.

He cursed softly.  He'd pulled the food out, then decided to go ahead and haul the trash out _before_ he fixed himself a hero for lunch.  It was going to be his reward for dumping the stuff by himself.

Well, so much for that bright idea.

He'd carefully checked the basement, but she'd obviously managed to slip out while he'd been picking up the sharp-edged pieces of the platter.  He'd sighed heavily, forced to lock up and walk down to the burger joint for lunch.

And then there was the time, a few weeks later, when they'd decided to barbecue steaks in the parking lot.  It was an enclosed space, a chain-link fence separating it from the rest of the area.  They only used a small fraction of the space for their vehicles, so he'd been more than happy to set up the large gas grill he'd found stored in the old hotel just outside the building.  When the temperature was just right, he'd added the steaks to the grill, then hurried inside to grab the home-made marinade he'd prepared the night before from the refrigerator.  The other members of the team were prepping the rest of the planned meal, Chance setting the table.

He'd hurried back outside, the bowl in his hand, only to find all five of the steaks gone.  He _knew_ she was responsible, but there was no way to prove it.

Benny Ray ended up driving down to the local grocery store and being back two of their pre-cooked barbecue chickens.

And there had been other incidents, too.

Thinking back now, he realized that he should have done something about the situation sooner, before it had gotten so far out of hand.  But how was he supposed to know that his team would betray him like they did?

          He wasn't sure who the first one was to reach out to her, but he had a good suspicion it was Benny Ray.  The sniper had a soft spot that she'd touched somehow, and he'd given in, of that Shepherd was sure.  And that was her foot in the door.  After that, she'd quickly conned the rest of them too.

          Of course it could have been C.J. who caved in first.  He might bluster a lot, but he also had a marshmallow core when it came to the ladies.  All she had to do was look up at him with those huge brown eyes and the explosives expert would have been done in for sure.

          So either C.J. or Benny Ray had set the dominos in motion, and before long Chance and Margo had fallen under the con artist's spell as well.

          He really thought he'd picked better operators than that.          How could they be so damned gullible?

          He shook his head sadly.  Well, it was too damned late now.  She'd practically moved into the Silver Star, and he couldn't imagine any way to move her back out, not without pissing off the others, and he couldn't afford that.

          So what could he do?  He thought, and thought, and thought some more, but no flash of inspiration was forthcoming.

          "Great," he muttered, "just great."

          At least she wasn't hanging around the basement, like she had been for the past few days.  He hated it when she was lying stretched out on his best sofa, watching Benny Ray clean and check their weapons, or watching C.J. while he played video games.  And she really seemed to enjoy accompanying Margo on her rollerblading excursions.  Chance had even talked about taking her up in the German – his precious, don't-touch-you'll-leave-smudge-marks-on-the-paint airplane – but he hadn't gotten around to it yet.

So why would she ever choose to leave?  There was certainly no reason for her to.  Hell, she'd found Paradise.

Matt suspected that she knew he wasn't happy about her being there.  He could tell by the way she looked at him, her eyes narrowed suspiciously, like he might toss her out at any moment.

Yeah, right, like _that_ was going to happen, no matter how much he wanted it to.  Not with the way Benny Ray, C.J, and Chance fell all over themselves to get her something to eat or drink.  Hell, even Margo had gotten close to her, the ex-CIA field agent going so far as to call her "little sister" and tell her that: "We girls have to stick together."

Well, _he_ wasn't going to fall for the con.  He knew better.  She was a dirty little thief and nothing she did was going to convince him otherwise.  But no matter what he said, the others refused to listen to him, and that really irked him.  After all, he was their commander, their leader, their major.  They were supposed to listen to him.  They were supposed to trust his judgment, without question.

Well, okay, so they'd never gone quite that far, but still, they were supposed to at least listen to him.  After all, he did own the damned building.

 _Fine_ , he thought.  _Fine.  But one of these days they're going to see her for what she is, and then I can be as smug as I want when I say 'told you so.'_

And that day couldn't come soon enough.

 _Where is she now?_ he wondered, glancing around.  She was nowhere in sight, which probably meant she was up in Benny Ray's suite, taking a nap on the sniper's bed.

Matt shook his head.  He'd never seen anyone make themselves at home like she did.  And never once did she ask.  She just did whatever she wanted, whenever she pleased, and then she'd flash those big brown eyes at them.  And be damned if she didn't get her way each and every damned time.

Correction, she got her way with the rest of the team, _not_ with him.  He refused to give in to her manipulations.  The others could be her puppets if they wanted to be, but _he_ wasn't going to.

Which was probably why she was hiding.  With no one else around to run interference for her, she was avoiding him.

Well, that suited him just fine.  She didn't like him, and he didn't like her.  So he didn’t want to spend his time with her.  Or thinking about her.  But he couldn't help himself.

He shook his head.  Even Father Bob, of all people, had fallen under her spell.  The priest had met her when she'd accompanied Benny Ray down to the church one day to help with some roofing work, and they'd hit it right off.  How the ex-Ranger could be so naïve, Shepherd wasn't sure, but he was.  In fact, the last few times they'd had a mission, she'd gone down and stayed with the priest, no doubt taking advantage of the man's generous nature.  Not that he seemed to mind.  In fact, he'd told her she could come stay with him any time she wanted to.

And Matt really wished she wanted to more often.  But as long as they were all there, she wasn't about to be budged from the Silver Star.  And why would she?  She had all the good food she wanted, plenty of attention, a comfortable bed to sleep in, and she'd even usurped _his_ favorite spot on the sofa.  And what did it matter that he didn't use the sofa much, it was still his _favorite_ spot.

 _She might as well be a damned princess_ , he muttered to himself.

What really worried him, though, was the thought that she might not be the last.  They couldn't afford to take in charity cases.  They were operators, for God's sake!  What would Trout say when he finally met her?

His eyes narrowed.  Hell, she'd probably turn on the charm and win him over just like she did the rest of his team.

With a heavy sigh he leaned back again the sofa arm and stretched out, determined to take advantage of finding his favorite spot unoccupied for a change.

And it wasn't like she pulled her weight around the place, either.  In fact, she seemed to take great delight in creating mess after mess that _he_ ended up having to clean up.  _Well, no more_ , he decided.  From now on they were _all_ going to pick up after her.  Maybe that would take some of the luster off her charade.

Yeah, that was the way to go.  He'd _force_ the rest of them to see her for what she was – a freeloading, conniving, thief – one way or another.

          But it wasn't going to be easy.  The rest of them were so damned protective.  It was like she couldn't do a damned thing wrong.  But he knew better.  He knew she'd broken in that day and filched his cold-cuts and cheese.  He knew she was the one who'd made off with the steaks, too.  And the pie Debbie Eggels had baked for him, or was it Debbie Fomanski?  He wasn't sure.  He was up to Debbie Landeau now and it was hard to keep them all straight.

          Oh, and there were his missing Reeboks, too.  And that gray cable sweater.  And his spare wallet.  She had to be behind their disappearances, too.

          He shook his head.  He was starting to get obsessed.  He had to stop thinking about her.

          He leaned over and grabbed the remote control for the television and turned it on.  He flipped through the channels, finally settling on CNN.  The broadcast held his attention until he heard a loud _thud_ upstairs, like someone turning over a piece of furniture.

          "You damn well better not be making a mess up there!" he yelled, his tone threatening.

And he could just imagine her response, too: "I can do anything I want, asshole.  I've got the others wrapped around my little finger, so what are _you_ going to do about it?"

"Well, you don't have _me_ wrapped around your little finger," Shepherd muttered, hunkering down in his seat and forcing his attention back to the television until a second _crash_ caused him to bolt off the sofa.

"I'm gonna kill her," he growled softly, heading for the stairs.

He took the steps two at a time, quickly reaching the second floor.  A third loud thump had him muttering soft curses by the time he reached Benny Ray's room.  He barreled in, then came to an abrupt stop.  Two teen-aged boys were standing in the sniper's room, rummaging through his dresser drawers.  They'd already tossed aside the three they'd looked trough.  The three sounds he'd heard.

So where was she? he wondered.  Probably hiding, he decided as he studied the boys as they realized he was there.  They were both drunk, or, more likely, high on something.

          And they both had knives.

          Great, Matt thought.  He had his M-9 in its holster at the small of his back, and a couple knives of his own as well, but he'd really rather avoid killing them.

          "Boys," he said, holding his hand up and away from his body.

          "Stay back, man," one of them snapped, waving his blade in front of him like he was trying to cast a spell or something.  "I don't wanna have to cut you, man."  It was obvious neither one of them knew how to use their weapons – not that they couldn't still be dangerous.

          "Look, no harm, no foul," Matt stated in what he thought was a reasonable tone of voice.  "You turn and go, now, and we'll just say this never happened."

          "Fuck you!" the second youth yelled.  He was smaller than the other boy, his blond hair so fair it was almost white.  "Give me your money, old man!"

          "Old?" Matt echoed, his eyes narrowing.  There were just annoying, but that came close to pissing him off.

          "You heard me!"

          "All right," Shepherd agreed, reaching for his back pocket with his right hand.

          "Stop!" the first, dark-haired boy screeched, glancing nervously from Matt to his cohort and back again.  "He might have a gun or something, man."

          "Hey, I was just going to hand you my wallet, okay?  How'd you get in here, anyway?" he asked, wondering how they'd gotten past the passive security.

          "None of your business!" the blond snarled.  "Hand over the wallet, man.  _Now_."

          "Yeah, sure," Matt agreed, reaching back again.  He grabbed the M-9, drawing it and pointing it at the blond.

          "Fuck!" the dark-haired teen yelped.  "I _told_ you, man!  I fuckin' told you!"

          "Shut up!" the blond snarled, his gaze locked on Matt.  "You can't kill both of us," he spat.  "We'll still get you."

          "Maybe," Matt said, his tone and posture one of a man completely confident in his situation.  And his lack of fear terrified the teens.  "But I will definitely take one of you with me.  Now, put the knives down."

          "We better do it, man," the dark-haired boy said, casting furtive sideways glances at the blond.

          "No!" the blond yelled at him, then glowered at Matt and said, "Move, old man."

          "I don't think so," Matt replied.  "You see, this is my place, and I say what happens here."

          "We're gonna stick you, fucker!" the blond yelled.

          "You don't even know how to use those knives," Matt said.  "Put them down – _now_."

          The dark-haired boy's gaze flashed back and forth from Matt to the blond for several long seconds, then he cursed softly under his breath and leaned forward to set his knife on the bed.

The blond saw the movement.  "Fuckin' pussy!" he screamed, reaching out and grabbing the other boy's shoulder, shoving him at Matt.

Having to make a split second decision, Shepherd opted to catch the dark-haired boy rather than shoot him or his companion.  But as soon as he had a hold of the boy he realized that he might have made a fatal mistake.  The blond reached into a pocket of his hugely over-sized jeans and pulled out a snub-nosed .38.  He'd just started to lift the weapon when Matt heard the growl, low and menacing.

There was a flash of movement and the blond teen screamed in pain.  "Get off!  Get it off!" he wailed.

Matt grabbed the knife from the dark-haired boy and tossed him onto the bed, then reached down and jerked the blond to his feet.

She backed off, her shoulders hunched forward, her head still down, her fangs showing as she continued to growl at the blond.

"Easy," Matt said.

She looked up at him, cocked her head to the side, then shook herself and sat down, panting happily with a job well done.

"Fuckin' dog _bit_ me!" the blond screeched.  "Fuckin' bitch!"

"Hey," Matt snapped, giving the boy a hard shake, "shut up.  Didn't your mother teach you now to use language like that?"  He couldn't believe it.  She'd actually protected him.  She didn't even like him, and she'd protected him!

He looked down, meeting her huge brown eyes.  "Uh, good dog."

She thumped her tail against the floor, her ears going back happily.

"Wow," Chance said first, after Matt had told them all about the earlier break-in.  Then he smiled at the dog and added, "Good girl!"

"Does this mean we can _finally_ give her a name?" Margo asked, folding her arms over her chest, a gesture that said she wasn't going to take "no" for an answer.

"A name?" Matt moaned, rolling his eyes.

"Come on, Major," C.J. said, "she saved your bloody life.  She deserves a name for that."

"'Dog' works just fine," Shepherd countered.

Benny Ray, who was sitting next to the shaggy mixed-breed on the sofa dandled the fur on her head.  "I'd say she's half-husky and half-border collie.  Maybe something that fits one of those breeds?"

"Benny Ray," Matt groaned.  He really needed to remind the sniper that as his second-in-command, he was supposed to back _him_ up, not the rest of the team!

"She's so pretty," Margo added.  "It should be a classy name."

"Yeah, look at those big brown eyes," C.J. said.  "She's just waiting for you to reward her with a name.  How can you say no?"

"Easy," Matt replied, but he was lying.  It wasn't easy.  In fact, he was having a hard time not walking over and giving her a good scratch behind the ears for saving his ass.  Still, she seemed to know it was just a front this time.  He watched her curl her tail as she held his gaze.

"I say we all come up with something, then we can vote on the one we like best," Chance offered.

Matt shook his head.  "I told you all a long time ago, this isn't a democracy.  If she's going to have a name, she's going to be Jacquelyn."

"Jacquelyn, Major?"  "Sir, I don't—"  "Oh, please!"  "Bloody awful!" all assailed his ears at once.  Matt held up his hands and the others fell silent.

"Where'd that come from, sir?" Benny Ray asked.

Matt glanced down at the floor, his cheeks going rosy.  Then he looked up and sighed.  "All right, if you have to know, it's for Jacquelyn Smith, you know, one of _Charlie's Angels_?  She was my, uh, favorite I guess you'd say."

"You didn't like Farrah, sir?" Chance inquired with a grin.

"Good choice, sir," Benny Ray offered.

" _Charlie's Angels_?" Margo asked.  It sounded like she wanted to gag.

C.J. just grinned and nodded understandingly.

"Hey, what can I say?" Matt asked Margo.  "They were the most kick-ass women I remember seeing on TV when I was, uh, you know, young and impressionable."

Margo rolled her eyes, then leaned over the back of the couch and petted the dog's head.  "I think I'll stick to Little Sister," she said.  "That okay with you?"

Jacquelyn looked up at Margo and howled softly, her tail waving.

"See!  Even _she_ agrees with me!"

"No, she was saying she didn't mind.  That Jacquelyn's a nice name."

"I don't know, sir…"

"I think…"

Matt tuned them all out, meeting the dog's warm gaze.  _Okay, so maybe I have a soft spot, too, okay?_ he admitted to her silently.  _But if you ever let on, so help me…_

She opened her mouth in what he was sure was a dog smile and he knew what she was thinking: _So, what will you give me for my silence?  You know, your bed's bigger than Benny Ray's…_

The End _  
_


End file.
